


To Pass Through This Night

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Change in point of view halfway through, Damian's POV, Dicks POV, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nightmares, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, forever evil aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: When Dick was captured by the Syndicate he died, for a short period of time, but he still died. It's a fact he kept from his closest friends and family to protect them. When Damian and Tim find out he has to face not only them, but the emotions he's buried from the event.





	To Pass Through This Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spread_my_wings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spread_my_wings/gifts).



> Written based on a request for 'the batkids reacting to finding out Dick really died' on Tumblr.

Damian hadn’t meant to watch it. He _had_ been meaning to spy on Drake, but he had never intended on watching that particular video or any iteration of it. Not that many existed anymore. Grayson and Spyral had made sure of that.

He had no idea why Drake would be opening Father’s files from the time the Syndicate had attacked their Earth. When Damian came back he’d looked over the files enough to know the details of the event, and could see little advantage in examining them further. Though, at the time he’d still been reeling from Grayson’s death and had made examination as short as possible.

He’d refused to watch much footage of the event, especially the bit from Father’s cowl during Grayson’s capture and ‘death’. Back then, he’d had a hard-enough time dealing with the fact that his brother was actually gone, and getting used to the empty space in his world. Watching the event felt like something he’d regret the rest of his life, so he’d stayed away. Besides, there was no strength in forcing himself to watch something Damian had no control over. Grayson had taught him that.

Except, he had been spying on Drake, and Drake had pulled up the video.

Damian didn’t know what it was at first, but he quickly realized when Father approached the machine. It was a metal pod that hung from the ceiling suspending his brother, or the bit Damian could see of him, a foot or so above the ground. He looked anywhere but Grayson’s face. He didn’t want to let himself focus on the bruised and bloody state his brother was in. A glance had the image burned into his mind, what would focusing on it do?

“Dick? Everything’s going to be alright. I’m here.” Bruce was saying.

Something about the video planted a seed of panic in his chest. The steady sound of the machine beeping, it's tone matching what Damian knew was Grayson's heart, set him on edge. It was silly. Grayson would be fine, Batman was there, nothing bad was going to happen, this was a rescue mission after all. His brother wasn’t dead. Even when Grayson mentioned his heart had to stop to halt the bomb, Damian had faith.

He watched, transfixed, as Father attempted to free Grayson the machine, despite his companion’s commentary, and Luthor’s persistent nattering that it couldn’t be done, even Grayson’s pleading that they get out. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the knowledge that his brother hadn’t actually died. He had faked his death, he’d been fine while everyone else had mourned. He’d never said as much, but he hadn’t needed to.

Then Luthor attacked Father and the screen showed the floor. The beeping speeding up, as Grayson could only watch the events, Damian's own heart wanting to match his brother's. He took in a calming breath even as Catwoman was yelling at Luthor.

It was the man's answer that chilled Damian’s blood: “I’m making an executive decision, Catwoman. I’m saving our lives by ending his.”

Against his will, Damian’s heart started to pound in his chest when Father looked up and the floor moved to Luthor, with a hand pressed over Grayson’s face, smothering him. It wasn’t possible that Grayson would die, Father was going to stop him. He had to, only Father was still fighting his way to them, and time was running out.

Grayson had to be ok, he couldn’t die he couldn’t- and then the noise on the screen cut to the solid tone that was not a beep but a stilled heart, and Damian couldn’t breathe. The machine on Grayson’s chest read a flat line. And then Father was on Luthor, screaming and raging against the man, and Damian wished he were there with him. Wished he’d had a chance to throttle the man for hurting his brother (and make no mistake, his mind was already coming up with ways to get back at him now).

Damian’s ears were roaring with the sound of his own heart crashing against his chest, and he missed any words passed between the people on the screen. His eyes still locked on Luthor moving towards Grayson again. How dare he approach his brother, how dare he touch him again.

There was a pill in his hand, _cardioplegia_ , Damian’s memory supplied. It stopped the heart, then required adrenaline to negate. He spotted the needle coming from Luthor’s glove.

And then Grayson breathed.

And Father held him.

And the world fell back into place.

It fell crooked and cracked. At a painful angle filled with grief and regret and self loathing. Damian’s mind flooded with old thoughts, thoughts once banished by the wide smile and warm arms of his oldest brother. Thoughts that had been soothed by gentle words and affirmations that it wasn’t his fault. Except that it was. That certainty rested like cement in Damian’s stomach making him swallow what felt like rocks. If only he’d been there. If only he hadn’t died. He could have protected Grayson, kept him from ever being in this situation.

He didn’t even realize he was crying, his chest heaving with a hiccupping noise that Damian assumed had come from the computer, until the chair at the computer scratched back with a sudden sharp sound, a hushed “Crap, crap, crap,” filled the almost silent cave. Then Tim was reaching under the table Damian had secluded himself in.

He jerked away from his brother’s hands, eyes bleary. His own hands pushing Tim’s away.

“No. Don’t touch me. This is your fault.” Damian said, chest heaving. “I didn’t want to. I never wanted to know. I didn’t know. I didn’t…” he couldn’t breathe.

“Damian.” Tim’s voice was a snap now, not a hiss or a gentle coo, but his name on his brother’s tongue a sharp crack of reality that only made Damian’s breathing speed up more.

He’d done this. Drake knew it, and so did Damian. By dying he’d done this, and it was his fault and Grayson-- Grayson had died, really died, and Damian hadn’t been able to stop it this time. He didn’t care that it had been for minutes, he’d died and it was Damian’s fault.

Then Tim was pulling him out from under the table and he was encased in warmth that he didn't deserve. He should still be dead, still be gone, or at the very least left alone to suffer with his new reality. Warmth and kindness were the last thing he should accept. He had let his brother die. It was his failure that had led to this greater one. What good was he as Robin if he couldn't protect his Batman? 

A voice, Tim’s, he thought dimly, was saying something about breathing, and Damian swallowed a gulp of air. His hand caught Tim’s shirt and he buried his head in his chest. The world wasn’t the same. Nothing was okay anymore, but at least Damian wasn’t the only one who knew.

* * *

A part of him was happy Grayson was in Bludhaven for a while. It gave him time to get used to the revelation. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really get past it, but Drake had been strangely helpful. It had come as a shock to him as well. He’d been viewing the tape to study some part of Luthor’s suit, and hadn’t expected its contents.

Neither had decided what they wanted to do with the information. Damian was ready to pummel Luthor, he didn't care that the man had managed to save the world and Grayson. Something in Damian's mind told him there should have been another option, and even if there wasn't the way the man had gone about the situation was _wrong._   Damian also wanted to yell at his father for keeping this from him, it had been bad enough to grieve Grayson the first time with no hope, now Damian felt thrust into some limbo of grief even as his brother lived and breathed.

Part of him was worried that Drake would react similarly to Grayson's actual death as he did about the man's faked death. As far as Damian could tell, Drake didn’t seem happy with it, he also accepted it as another part of Grayson's initial deception. 

If Damian was a bit clingier with Grayson when he returned, he passed it off as simply missing the man, instead of his attempts to soothe the burning guilt inside him with nearness to his brother. If he got into a fistfight with Todd when the man dumped on Grayson for being a faker, he excused it as having a particularly bad night, and prayed Todd wouldn’t get suspicious. Both he and Drake had agreed Jason finding out the truth wouldn’t end well.

They were doing fine hiding the truth and trying to decide how to deal with it. Tim was watching Dick for signs he was having problems dealing with it. But Damian thought it was a little late for careful watching. It had been so long. Grayson had spent most of that time as a spy, a man trapped in a world of corruption and mistrust, and had perfected his already excellent ability to bury hurt behind a blinding smile. Even so, Tim insisted they keep an eye on him.

“We weren’t there for him then, we will be this time.”

It was a strange thing, grieving someone who was alive. Loss would hit Damian at odd times, a sudden wave of fear or sorrow that prompted him to seek out or call Grayson depending on his brother’s location. He wondered if Father and Grayson ever felt this way about him or Todd. A deep ache that felt painfully like a bad dose of fear toxin he couldn’t quite shake. Sometimes seeing Grayson helped, and Damian could shake the grief at the sight of the man, or the sound of his voice, his usual smothering  and sometimes it made it worse.

Even so, he thought he’d been doing a good job hiding how upset he was. He still hadn’t decided if he wanted to tell Grayson he knew or not. How would he even react to that? He might try to pass it off as nothing big. Or he may deny it altogether. He might even get angry. Damian was angry enough at the possibility of most of those reactions.

A nightmare was his undoing. Damian had had it almost constantly since he’d watched the video. There were little variations in each one, but they all boiled down to the same. All with him staring, and screaming as Luthor forced Grayson to swallow a pill that stopped his heart, and the man turning to grin at Damian before walking away to leave his brother dead and alone, the world saved but Damian’s shattered.

He woke up screaming Grayson’s name, with the man himself by his side, a hand on his shoulder. Damian’s mind hadn’t separated fact from fiction when he barreled into Grayson, arms latching onto his brother.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone, I should have been there. Should have stopped him.” He was rambling, the words a leftover flood from his dream, his brother’s presence still not enough to dispel that horrid image of him broken, bleeding, and dead.

He should have been able to keep it together, he’d seen far worse in his life. He’d experienced far worse. But there was something that felt permanently damaging about watching his brother, his _Batman_ , die. He hadn’t seen Father’s ‘death’, but he felt the impact would be something similar if he were to watch that. Something that cracked a part of him he didn’t know he had and left him ragged.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Dick’s hand was pushing back his hair, letting cool air brush past his exposed forehead. “It was just a dream.”

“No.” Damian tore himself away from Dick, hands fisting in the rumpled sheets around him, eyes looking anywhere but his brother. “It wasn’t just a dream.” he spat. “It happened, and I couldn’t stop it.”

Dick leaned forward and caught his chin, turning his head so they faced each other. When had his light turned on? Grayson must have done it when he came in. He hated the light, how it illuminated everything and made it so easy to see the worry on his brother’s face.

“It’s ok,” Dick gave him a gentle smile. “I know it’s tough when you lose someone on patrol, but we can’t save everyone, Damian.”

He blinked at him, his mind not understanding what Grayson was saying. He, had he assumed Damian was dreaming about an accident on patrol? He was shaking, his whole body wanting to admit the truth.

“You don’t understand.” Damian said. “It wasn’t just some person.”

Grayson’s eyes softened in that sad way they did when he felt bad for Damian but knew better than to show real pity. “You're right, they were their own person, but Damian--”

Damian shoved at Dick’s chest, the words pouring out of him now. “It wasn’t some person, it wasn’t a nameless face, Grayson. It was you. It was you and I couldn’t save you because I was dead. I failed, and nothing, nothing is going to change that or make it better, so stop. Just stop.”

Dick tilted his head at him, eyes worried. “Dames, this isn’t about the dream, is it?”

His mouth clamped shut and Damian shook his head. He was caught. He could see it in Dick’s eyes, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“Damian? I heard screaming- Oh, Dick.” Tim said, standing in the doorway. His eyes darted from Damian’s red face to Dick’s worry and Damian watched his already pale skin drain.

“Dick, I’m sorry. We didn’t know how to tell you.”

Dick sighed, and held his hand out to Damian, “Come on. Let’s head into the kitchen. We’re going to need some coffee.”

* * *

Dick got Damian and Tim settled in the kitchen on stools. Damian with cocoa, and Tim with black coffee. Dick himself spooned liberal amounts of sugar into his own coffee and added milk. It wasn’t what he usually drank, but the sugar might push him through the conversation he had to have.

He’d been dreading his family finding out what really happened to him in the Syndicate’s lair. He had hoped that when the information on his identity had been wiped everything had been wiped, but that didn’t seem to be his luck.

He sat between Damian and Tim, his youngest brother scooted so close he was almost touching Dick. If the nightmare and panic in Damian’s eyes was any indication he’d been having trouble dealing with the fact that Dick had actually died. Dick had spent their partnership trying not to show weakness, and that was one of his weakest moments. And if he guessed right, Damian had watched it happen.

Tim hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t need to. His silence on the event was enough to tell Dick he wasn’t handling the news well either. If he was angry he’d have let Dick know, instead he’d bottled it, and paid extra attention to Dick. Dick had noticed it, he hadn’t brought it up because he’d thought it had been a simple scare from patrol, not this.

Before he could decide where to start there was a chuckle from the hallway. The three of them turned to see Jason paused outside the kitchen.

“I stick around for a snack and walk in on the round table. What happened, group nightmare?” Jason asked.

Next to Dick, Damian flinched. He resisted the urge to reach back and take his little brother’s hand, Damian would only get mad at him for that. Instead he waved Jason in.

“Grab some coffee, and sit.”

Jason frowned at them. “What exactly is going on?”

“You probably already know.” Dick said.

Tim reached back to stop him, the words already out of Dick’s mouth, “We’re talking about my death. Well, we’re about to.”

“Your fake death?” Jason asked, stepping in.

Dick shook his head. “Well, that and the real one that accompanied it.”

Now Jason stalked in, “The hell? Tim, what’s he talking about? Did Dick get hit with some fear toxin or something?”

Tim shook his head, and Dick felt Damian press closer to him. “We didn’t tell him.”

Of course. Of course, it would be Jason who was the only one who hadn’t learned the truth. Dick needed to figure out how Damian and Tim found out. Who told who and why they didn’t include Jason. He wondered if they’d let Bruce know they found out yet. He was sure they were probably angry with him.

“Tell me what?”

Dick cringed, Jason was going to be pissed at Bruce. Lex too.

“Dick died, really died.” Tim said.

“For like half a minute.” Dick snapped back. This was getting out of hand, he needed to find a way to reel them in and start explaining, or get someone else to explain.

Now Damian pushed forward, hands on the table so he could almost face Dick. “I don’t care about the timeframe, you were murdered, Grayson, I’d be angrier. I was angrier, and I’m—”

Dick turned back to him, “It’s been over a year, Damian.” His brother bristled at that. He hadn’t meant it to sound crass, but he was being pulled between three confused, worried, and angry siblings and needed to find some control.

“Someone better explain what’s going on.” Jason said.

“I will if you three just hush. Jason sit down. Grab coffee or not, but sit and let me talk.” He motioned to the open stools and have his other brothers a warning look.

He did not want to do this. He did not want Damian looking at him like he was broken, or Tim handling him with kid gloves. He hated to see that slightly betrayed and guarded look on Jason’s face. Most of all he was starting to feel angry at Bruce (again) for putting him in this position. He held back because in the end he had gone along with it.

When Jason had a mug of his own in his hands and was seated across from them Dick started. “Yes, I died, but it was temporary. Maybe a minute. Lex Luthor had to stop my heart to keep a bomb from going off that would have killed everyone with me, and more.” He paused to look at everyone’s faces.

Tim and Damian’s said they knew this fact already, so either Bruce had written up a detailed report of his death and rescue or they’d watched his cowl footage. Dick was betting on the footage. Jason was absorbing it like a sponge, the new details adding layers of shock to his face in the form of a deepening scowl and hard lines Dick could only read from years of knowing him.

“Ironically, it was the best way to get me out alive. You guys know the rest, we took advantage of my situation and I joined Spyral as a not so dead man.” He tried to add lightness to his voice but it cracked.

He had to die to live, how messed up was that? How messed up was the whole thing? He hadn’t realized it before. He’d never talked about it, never laid out the facts before himself. Had it been the only way? Or had it been the fastest way? The words felt sour in his mouth, and something started to rise in his chest, a panic and terror he’d buried in Bruce’s arm and the wrap of the man’s cape around him.

“You mean Bruce took advantage of it.” Tim muttered.

Dick put a hand on his shoulder. “He didn’t make me do it, Tim. But I can also never apologize enough for not telling any of you.”

He returned both hands to his mug and stared at the tanish liquid. “I didn’t mean for you to find out about this.”

“So, what? You just let us assume you’d faked your death? Let us, chew you out for it? You took all our crap. And for what?” Jason said, anger bubbling through his words, in the veins on his hands clenched around his own mug.

He looked back up at them, “I didn’t want to hurt any of you more than I already had, I mean look at you all. Damian woke up screaming tonight because of it.”

His brother bit his bottom lip, but stayed close to Dick’s side. He’d hit home with the comment and he hadn’t meant it to hurt, but he needed them to understand. He’d been protecting them. From this. From nightmares and guilt. It had been the best thing to do. Right?

“And when you assumed I’d faked my death, I went with it.” Dick said, “Honestly, Jay, would you have believed me if I told you, or would you have thought it was a cop out? I couldn’t tell you that I understood now, that I _knew_ , because—” he looked away. “A minute seems so short, like it wasn’t worth bringing up. You, and Damian. You two went through so much worse.”

His brother’s mug crashed onto the table, spilling liquid. “Dammit, Dick you should have told us. We could have helped. One minute or years, dead’s dead.”

Damian moved back, hands wrapping around Dick’s arm, eyes fierce. “Idiot. That is not a burden you should have o bear alone.”

Tim took his free hand, pulling it away from the safety of the mug. “Dick, none of us would have held it against you. What Lex did—” Tim paused. “He might have had to do it, but it was wrong. It was terrible and wrong and you didn’t deserve that, not after everything you’ve done.”

 _It hadn’t been that bad_. Dick had told himself since the event. He’d made it out alive. He hadn’t been killed by the Joker or a clone of himself. He hadn’t been gunned down trying to save someone. He’d taken a pill and passed out for a bit and then he was awake and in his father’s arms. So it couldn’t have been that bad, right?

But his family was looking at him the way he tried not to look at Damian or Jason when they had nightmares of their own deaths. They were furious _for_ him. Furious at Lex and the Syndicate and death itself, he could feel it in the grip his youngest brothers had on him, in the tone of Jason’s voice and the words that were attempting to sink past the walls he’d built to keep the hurt at bay.

He’d died. And his family cared. He’d _died_ and no one was mad at him for it. They knew now, he didn’t need to hide it or let barbs about not actually dying slip off him. A gasp caught his chest, and another, then his eyes were burning. Damian’s hand moved to wrap around his waist, Tim’s tightened on his hand and Jason nodded at him.

The tears came in a rush, huge gobs that flooded his eyes and cheeks, and dripped into his coffee. The gasps turned to sobs until he’d melted onto the table. He hardly registered Jason easing the mug back, away from him, and the scrape of two stools so his littlest brothers could wrap him in the warmth he gave away so often.

It was Jason at his back, hand rubbing circles there that really broke him. His broken, broken brothers were all comforting him. For a minute of heart failure. A minute of death. A minute that had felt like eternity. For the shame, pain, and terror.

He couldn’t stay on the stool any longer, it was too small. He stumbled off it, and slid to the ground, everyone following. He had no idea how it happened, but he was wrapped in arms, curled in them as he let everything go. He didn’t want to stop the tears or the sobbing.

All the pain from the Syndicate and the torture flowed out in waves. The shame of his face being shown to the world, of his father seeing him strapped to a _bomb_ and knowing he’d die that way, slipped out like poison sucked from a wound. The terror that came with knowing he was going to die. That his father, _who had been right there_ , couldn’t save him, and then the panic and betrayal that came with Lex assaulting him ‘for the greater good’. All of it poured out in sobs and tears and heaving breaths.

He was shaking and relieved, and felt lighter than ever when they stopped. He didn’t want to move from the cocoon of warmth around him. It was Jason who helped him stand, and Tim who lead him back through the house. Dick had the passing thought that Alfred might be mad about the mess of cups on the bar, then Damian pressed into his side and he decided he’d forget about it until morning.

There would be more questions. Apologies would be given in words, looks, and actions for longer than Dick would be able to stand. His siblings would be on alert, and ready to jump at the slightest falter in his smile.

The questions and worry that would come felt distant. The pain he knew he was going to deal with was forgotten for the moment as he found comfort in the right now. The apologies he couldn’t stand were like worries that would never come. And that cold, terrifying coffin of metal and explosives felt like another life as Jason pulled back the comforter on Dick’s bed, and Tim directed him to lay down.

Damian found a comfortable spot curled up next to him, and Tim found another behind Damian, and Jason on the other side of Dick, making a new tangle of arms and legs and grumbles to ‘move legs so I can get comfy’. Then the exhaustion that only came with a good cry washed over Dick and his eyes slipped closed, surrounded by family who cared so much they refused to let him stew alone any longer, and he smiled, happy they’d found out.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Precious Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074532) by [spread_my_wings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spread_my_wings/pseuds/spread_my_wings)




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